EDITORIAL: Russia’s September Elections—A Farce That Says It All About the State of Russia at War

A Candidate Subject to an International Arrest Warrant

Maria Lvova-Belova’s inclusion on the United Russia list warrants a separate section. This woman is Russia’s Commissioner for Children’s Rights—and she is the subject of an arrest warrant issued by the International Criminal Court, issued jointly with that of Vladimir Putin in March 2023, for the forced transfer of Ukrainian children to Russia. Ukrainian and international investigators have documented the relocation of thousands—perhaps tens of thousands—of Ukrainian children to Russian families, which constitutes a war crime under international law.

Presenting this woman as a candidate in national elections is no accident. It is a deliberate message to the international community: Moscow flouts international arrest warrants. Moscow rewards those whom the International Criminal Court seeks to prosecute. And Moscow considers its actions in Ukraine—including the relocation of children—to be policies to be defended, not crimes to be acknowledged. The message is one of defiance. Lvova-Belova’s candidacy is an institutionalized middle finger to the international legal order.

What this says about the Kremlin’s mindset

A regime that includes a figure subject to an international arrest warrant on its electoral ballot is not seeking to normalize its relations with the West. It is sending the signal that it does not fear the consequences, that it does not recognize the legitimacy of the institutions that judge it, and that it is engaged in a systemic confrontation with the liberal international order. It is a declaration of permanent hostility cloaked in the trappings of a democratic process.

For Western countries hoping for a gradual normalization of relations with Russia following a potential ceasefire in Ukraine, this signal should serve as a warning. A Russia that rewards its children’s rights commissioner with a legislative candidacy after she was implicated in the forced transfer of children is not a Russia seeking to reintegrate into the international community. It is a Russia that positions itself as a state outside the norm, playing by its own rules.

Lvova-Belova is on the United Russia candidate list. I want you to take a moment to let that sink in. A woman accused of participating in the forced transfer of Ukrainian children is running for the Russian parliament. And the West is still debating the conditions under which it might normalize relations with this regime. I have no words for this dissonance. Or rather, I do have one: complicity.

United Russia will win—it’s just a matter of by how much

United Russia has won large majorities in every national election in which it has participated. This pattern will not change in September 2026. The nominal opposition—the Communist, Liberal Democratic, and “Fair Russia” parties—plays the role of a tamed opposition that broadly supports the Kremlin’s line on Ukraine. Independent candidates and those representing the real opposition have been gradually eliminated from the system—imprisoned, exiled, or, in the case of the bravest, physically eliminated.

The outcome will be what Russian election results have always been since 2000: an endorsement of the regime cloaked in the trappings of a democratic process. Voter turnout may be lower than usual, given the tensions surrounding the war. The results could be slightly less favorable to United Russia in the regions most directly affected by military losses. But the vast majority will follow suit. And Putin will have his new parliament.

The Opposition Under Fire: An Impossibility

Running an opposition campaign in Russia in September 2026 is not only difficult but potentially fatal. Laws on “discrediting the military” and “disinformation” allow for the imprisonment of anyone who questions the official narrative about the war. The “foreign agents” legislation stigmatizes and paralyzes NGOs and journalists who receive funding from abroad. And the memory of Alexei Navalny—who died in prison in 2024—reminds all potential opponents of the ultimate price of dissent.

In this context, the few candidates who dare to address sensitive topics—the human cost of the war, economic shortages, and transparency in military decision-making—do so with extremely measured words, within extremely narrow parameters. The result is that the Russian electoral “debate” in September 2026 will not be a debate in the sense that a democracy understands it. It will be a one-sided conversation about who best embodies support for the war.

I am aware that millions of Russians find themselves in an impossible situation: not all of them support the war, not all of them are Kremlin propagandists, but they live in a system that punishes dissent. Collective responsibility is always a delicate concept. What I can say is that the silence of those who know is not innocence. It is passive complicity. And history will judge that.

War as a School of Politics

Putin’s strategy of turning veterans of the war in Ukraine into the “new Russian political elite” warrants serious analysis. This is not a new idea—history offers numerous examples of regimes that have exploited their veterans to legitimize their power. What is specific to Russia in 2026 is the deliberate construction of a political class based on the experience of a war of aggression—an illegal war waged against a sovereign country, using methods that are under investigation for war crimes.

From veterans who participated in the destruction of Mariupol, to the bombardment of Ukrainian cities, to “filtration” operations targeting civilian populations—these men are now entering Russian politics with a legitimacy built on these very acts. This is not merely a perversion of democracy. It is the institutionalization of a culture of war within the Russian state apparatus. Every veteran of the war in Ukraine elected to the Duma is an agent of continuity for this culture—and yet another obstacle to any future reconciliation.

The Normalization of the Unacceptable

What the September 2026 elections are accomplishing is the gradual normalization of the unacceptable. Candidates subject to international arrest warrants appear on the same ballots as popular mayors and respected ministers. Veterans of an illegal war are presented as national heroes. A tamed opposition simulates democratic debate. And all of this takes place within the framework of an electoral process—dates, ballots, vote counts—that lends an appearance of legitimacy to a system that has none.

For Western democracies, the question is how to deal with a regime that uses the trappings of democracy to consolidate an autocracy. Recognizing the results of these elections as legitimate amounts to validating the fiction that Russia is a democracy that deserves to be treated as such. Not recognizing them means accepting an open diplomatic conflict. This is an uncomfortable dilemma that the West had been avoiding before the war in Ukraine. After four years of armed conflict, it can no longer do so.

The normalization of the unacceptable is the mechanism by which authoritarian regimes prevail in the long run. We get used to it. We accept it. We end up finding reasons to compromise. Ukraine, which has been living with the consequences of this normalization since 2014, reminds us all that habit is the enemy of moral outrage. Don’t get used to seeing Lvova-Belova on the electoral ballot. Stay outraged. That’s all I ask.

Ukrainian Strikes and Their Domestic Impact

The September 2026 election campaign is taking place in a Russia where Ukrainian drone strikes on refineries and fuel depots are beginning to have visible domestic effects. Fuel shortages in certain Russian regions—a phenomenon not seen since the Soviet era—are causing real hardship for the population and presenting a delicate public relations challenge for United Russia. The propaganda that promised a swift and clean “special military operation” must now explain why gas stations are sometimes empty.

Putin himself had to acknowledge these shortages in public for the first time—an admission that, in such a tightly controlled system, represents a significant concession. For an election campaign seeking to project an image of control and competence, this acknowledgment is uncomfortable. United Russia candidates will have to explain the shortages without blaming the government, without acknowledging the success of Ukrainian strikes, and without promising a swift end to a war that has no end in sight.

The War Economy as an Electoral Reality

Beyond fuel, the Russian economy—subject to sanctions—is under pressure that United Russia candidates cannot completely ignore. Inflation persists. Interest rates remain high. Western consumer goods have disappeared from store shelves or been replaced by inferior alternatives. Not all families who have lost loved ones on the front lines can be satisfied by rhetoric about national glory.

In this context, United Russia’s slate of candidates—with its high-profile veterans and well-known ministers—is an attempt to shift the electoral debate toward national identity and military pride, away from concrete economic issues. This is a classic electoral strategy of regimes facing economic difficulties: turning elections into a plebiscite on national identity rather than an assessment of government performance. And in Russia, this strategy has historically worked.

Fuel shortages in Russia fascinate me from a political perspective. They are a sign that the war is coming home—that ordinary Russians are beginning to feel its effects in their daily lives. This may be the beginning of a rift between the propaganda of military glory and the concrete experience of hardship. Perhaps. Russia has a long tradition of accepting hardship as proof of patriotism. But at some point, even that tradition has its limits.

September 2026: Voting During the War

Elections to the State Duma are scheduled for September 2026—the exact date has not yet been confirmed, but the Russian electoral cycle sets parliamentary elections for September. This date means that Russia will hold national elections in the midst of an intense armed conflict, with soldiers on the front lines, families in mourning, and an economy under the strain of war. This decision speaks volumes about the Kremlin’s confidence—or arrogance.

Discussions reportedly took place regarding a possible postponement of the elections, but they were rejected. This refusal is itself a signal: Putin believes that the current context is favorable to an electoral victory for United Russia, despite—or perhaps because of—the war. The rallying around the flag, the suppression of the opposition, and the Russian state’s ability to control the media and election results make this calculation understandable, if not morally acceptable.

The Occupied Regions: Voting on Ukrainian Territory

One particularly troubling aspect of these elections is that Moscow will claim to be holding them in the occupied Ukrainian territories—Donetsk, Luhansk, Zaporizhzhia, and Kherson—which were “annexed” in September 2022 in an operation that the international community unanimously rejected as illegal. Residents of the occupied Ukrainian regions will be presented as “Russian voters” casting ballots for the Russian parliament. This is annexation through the ballot box—the continuation of war by other means, using the trappings of democracy to validate an illegal territorial conquest.

For Ukraine, this aspect of the elections constitutes yet another act of aggression—not with missiles this time, but with ballots. It strengthens Ukraine’s resolve never to accept a peace agreement that would leave these territories under Russian sovereignty. To recognize these election results is to recognize the annexation. And to recognize the annexation is to endorse the principle that borders can be altered by armed force.

Ballots in the occupied Ukrainian regions. There’s no gentle way to put this: it’s a political obscenity. People who were living their lives in the Zaporizhzhia and Kherson oblasts will be forced to participate in an election for a country that has invaded them. They are not voters. They are hostages to electoral propaganda. And the world’s democracies that recognize these results—if they do—will be complicit in this charade.

What Analysts See in These Elections

The Institute for the Study of War (ISW), in its assessment of the Russian offensive campaign in June 2026, notes that the September elections are part of a broader dynamic: Moscow is seeking to project an image of institutional normalcy during a war. Holding elections, announcing high-profile candidates, and organizing a party congress—all of this signals both domestically and internationally that Russia is a state operating according to its own rules, despite international pressure.

The ISW also notes that the promotion of veterans in Russian politics follows a trajectory that will permanently strengthen militarist factions in the Russian political landscape—making any future de-escalation more difficult. Politicians whose legitimacy stems from the war will have an interest in prolonging or justifying the war. This is a mechanism of institutional self-condemnation: Russia is building a political class that cannot politically afford peace.

The NEST Center and Political Turbulence

Analyses by the NEST Center on how the war is shaping the Duma elections highlight growing “turbulence” in the Russian political landscape: cracks are appearing in the facade of unity, veteran groups are advancing demands that do not always align with the Kremlin’s interests, and the issue of “fallen soldiers” is creating complex local political dynamics. Not all families who have lost loved ones on the front lines have become unconditional supporters of the regime. Some are questioning the regime, while others are organizing—within the narrow margins the system allows for dissent.

This turbulence does not pose a short-term threat to United Russia’s dominance. But it suggests that the September 2026 elections will not be as smooth and enthusiastic an endorsement as previous ones. The war has created tensions within Russian society that propaganda masks but does not resolve. And these tensions, if they build up, could have unpredictable political consequences in the years to come.

I do not want to fall into the trap of wishful thinking shared by those who regularly predict Putin’s downfall. This regime possesses real resilience, considerable resources, and a population largely conditioned to accept authoritarianism as the norm. But I also note that regimes that seemed the most solid have sometimes crumbled the fastest when internal conditions changed. The pressure is mounting. The outcome remains uncertain.

The West and the Russian Electoral Farce

How will Western democracies react to the Russian elections in September 2026? The predictable response: a few statements highlighting the lack of conditions for free and fair elections, a few calls to release political prisoners, and few practical consequences. Whether or not the results are recognized will not fundamentally change EU-Russia relations, which are already at their lowest point since the Cold War.

But there is an important symbolic dimension: if the West reacts half-heartedly to elections held in the occupied Ukrainian territories, it sends a signal to Kyiv that the annexations may ultimately be tacitly accepted over time. This is a signal that Zelenskyy and his government will be watching closely. And this is one reason why Ukraine insists that its partners be clear and consistent in their refusal to recognize the elections in the occupied territories as legitimate.

Sanctions as a Systemic Response

The appropriate response to Russia’s September elections is not rhetorical. It is systemic: maintaining and intensifying sanctions, continuing to support Ukraine militarily and financially, refusing to recognize election results in the occupied territories, and continuing to pursue the International Criminal Court’s investigations into Russian war crimes—including those involving Lvova-Belova. These are not symbolic gestures. They are instruments of pressure that increase the cost of the war for Moscow and reduce the resources available to prolong it.

The Russian elections in September 2026 do not deserve international recognition. But they do deserve analytical attention—because they reveal the state of a regime under pressure, the tools of legitimization it employs, and the political trajectories it is charting for the future. Understanding what these elections say about Russia is more useful than merely condemning them rhetorically.

I am wary of outrage without consequences. Yes, these elections are a farce. Yes, Lvova-Belova should never have been on that list. Yes, voting in the occupied Ukrainian territories is an abomination. But outrage without concrete political action changes nothing. What does make a difference is sustained sanctions, delivered weapons, ongoing investigations, and a Ukraine that holds firm. Save your outrage for action. That’s where it counts.

A parliament with no real power

It would be an overstatement to conclude that the composition of the next Duma will have a significant impact on Russian policies. Under the current Russian constitutional system, the State Duma is not an independent decision-making body. It ratifies the decisions of the executive branch, passes the laws submitted to it by the Kremlin, and serves primarily as an institutional rubber stamp. The decision to continue or end the war, to mobilize additional troops or not, to accept or reject peace terms—none of these decisions will be made by the Duma.

They will be made by Putin—perhaps with the advice of the Security Council, perhaps with that of a few close advisors, but fundamentally within the inner circle of the presidency. The Duma is not irrelevant—it can sometimes serve as a venue for the expression of internal tensions, and the composition of the veterans’ group could develop its own dynamics. But for now, the September 2026 elections will do little to change the realities of power in Russia.

The True Purpose of Russian Elections

The true purpose of the September 2026 elections is not to elect a parliament. It is to produce a statistic of legitimacy: a vote percentage that will tell the world that the Russian people support the regime. This statistic will be used in diplomatic speeches, in potential negotiations, and in domestic propaganda. It will say: “See, the Russian people endorse our course.”

But behind this statistic lie families who have lost loved ones, fuel shortages, an economy under strain, and millions of Russians who have no alternative voice to express their doubts. The percentage from the Russian elections says nothing about the Russian people. It says everything about the regime that organizes them. And this regime—as the September 2026 elections confirm—has no intention of changing course.

A figure derived from an unfree election in a country at war, with a list of candidates determined by the Kremlin, in territories occupied by force—and yet some European diplomats will continue to treat this figure as meaningful political data. I am not asking them to ignore it. I am asking them never to forget its context. Legitimacy is not built on a ballot cast in a prison.

A Politically Militarized Class for a Generation

If Putin’s strategy succeeds—and it has every chance of succeeding in the short term—Russia will end up with a political class permanently shaped by the experience of the war in Ukraine. Lawmakers, regional governors, and mayors elected for their legitimacy as war veterans. A political culture in which combat experience becomes the supreme form of public credibility.

This legacy will have lasting consequences for Russia’s ability to engage in future de-escalation. Politicians whose careers are built on war will have structural incentives to maintain a hostile stance toward the West and Ukraine. The militarization of Russian politics that these elections are accelerating is perhaps the most enduring and troubling factor resulting from them—more troubling than the results themselves.

Ukraine Facing a Politically Militarizing Russia

For Ukraine, this trajectory has direct implications. A Russia whose political class will be dominated by veterans of the war in Ukraine for the next decade will be less likely to accept a lasting peace that fully recognizes Ukrainian sovereignty. These politicians will have a personal and ideological interest in maintaining pressure on Ukraine, even if the active war ends. The peace that follows this conflict will therefore have to be built with a Russia whose political elite is psychologically and institutionally prepared for permanent confrontation.

This is why Ukraine’s integration into the EU and NATO is not merely a goal of accession. It is a structural necessity to ensure that a peaceful Ukraine is not vulnerable to the next generation of Russian politicians who will have learned their craft in the trenches of Mariupol and Kursk. Ukraine’s security will only be truly guaranteed when it is anchored in structures that make a new aggression militarily and politically too costly to even consider.

I think of those young Russians who fought in Mariupol and who, twenty years from now, may be governors or ministers. They will carry with them the experience of a war against Ukraine. Will that experience make them more inclined toward peace or toward confrontation? History offers both answers. What will determine which one prevails is, in large part, the way the international community shapes the consequences of this war. The seeds we plant now will sprout in two decades.

A List That Is a Platform

United Russia’s list of candidates for September 2026 is, in reality, a political platform disguised as an electoral exercise. It says: the war continues, veterans are honored, acts subject to international arrest warrants are rewarded, and the opposition does not exist. This is the declaration of a regime that has no intention of changing course, that is consolidating its power base through war, and that is using democratic forms to institutionalize autocracy.

For the democracies observing these elections, the message must be clear: do not harbor any illusions about what this election result represents. It does not represent the Russian people. It represents the machinery of a regime that sustains itself through fear, censorship, and manipulation. Treating the results of these elections as democratic validation would be a serious political mistake—and a moral betrayal of those in Russia who are paying the price for their resistance to this regime.

The editorial that history will remember

Ten years from now, when historians analyze the Russian elections of September 2026, they will likely note their insignificance in terms of real political change. But they will also note their symbolic significance: this was the moment when Russia officially institutionalized war as the foundation of its political legitimacy. It was the moment when a regime presented as national heroes the participants in a war condemned by virtually the entire international community. And it was the moment when the West should have responded with the clarity that the situation demanded—not with measured diplomatic statements, but with concrete acts of support for those who resist.

I am writing this editorial knowing that it will not be read in Moscow—not on accessible channels, at any rate. And that is precisely why I am writing it. To speak the truth when those living in a web of lies cannot. Ukraine is fighting for this truth. I have only words. But I pledge never to hold them back.

There is another way

It would be wrong to claim that there is no alternative to the September 2026 elections as they are currently being held. Truly free elections, with a real opposition, an independent press, and the possibility for candidates to challenge the war—this exists as a concept. Tens of thousands of Russians in exile in Berlin, Riga, Tel Aviv, and New York have proven that not all Russians support the regime. Russian civil society has not disappeared—it has been suppressed, scattered, and silenced.

A different Russia is theoretically possible. That is what hope tells us. What reality tells us is that the likelihood of a democratic transformation in Russia in the short term is extremely low—and that the September 2026 elections are actively contributing to making that transformation even more difficult by institutionalizing a militaristic political class that will have an interest in maintaining the status quo. But documenting the possible alternative is also a political act: it means refusing to let the regime alone decide what “Russia” means.

The Russia of the future begins at the ballot box today

The September 2026 Russian elections will not change the outcome of the war in Ukraine. They will not change the results of diplomatic negotiations. They will not lift the sanctions. But they will shape the Russia of tomorrow—a Russia with a Duma filled with veterans of the war in Ukraine, with political legitimacy rooted in confrontation with the West, and with an institutional culture oriented toward the continuation of the conflict rather than toward reconciliation. That Russia is the lasting legacy that the 2026 elections are building brick by brick. And for Ukraine, for Europe, for the free world, understanding this legacy is the first step toward responding to it.

Russian democracy is dead—did it ever truly flourish?—under the pressure of a regime that chose fear over freedom. These September 2026 elections are its grim testament. Golovin, at 29, entering the Duma with his wound from Mariupol as his badge of legitimacy. Lvova-Belova, subject to an international arrest warrant, is running anyway. Lavrov is making a token appearance in the election between rounds of negotiations. This is Russia in 2026. Let’s learn to see it clearly.

Permanence as a Tool of Domination

The Russian elections in September 2026 will produce a predictable outcome: a large majority for United Russia, a compliant Duma that will support the Kremlin’s policies, and statistical validation of the regime. This permanence—these consistently identical results, these consistently overwhelming majorities—is precisely the instrument of domination. It creates an impression of inevitability, stability, and consensus. It discourages the opposition by showing it that it cannot win. It fuels the fatalism of citizens who wonder what the point would be in voting any other way.

Resistance to this permanence comes through naming it. Through refusing to let these elections pass as a normal occurrence. Through emphasizing the context—the imprisoned opponents, the journalists in exile, the results in the occupied territories, the party list featuring a candidate under an international arrest warrant. The editorial is the journalist’s act of resistance: naming what is, when those in power are working to distort it.

What I Take Away from September 2026

What stands out to me about these upcoming elections is one image: that of a regime waging both a war against a sovereign country and a national election—and succeeding in using one to legitimize the other. This is authoritarian virtuosity in all its ugliness. It’s also proof that as long as this war doesn’t come at a high enough cost for Moscow, there’s no reason for the Kremlin to change course. Sanctions, support for Ukraine, diplomatic isolation—all of this must continue. Not because it will change the September election results. But because it’s the only language this regime understands.

Golovin in the Duma. Lavrov on the ballot. Lvova-Belova on the campaign trail. And here I am, writing about all this from the other side of the line. I have no illusions about the direct impact of this editorial on Russian politics. But I am convinced of one thing: speaking the truth is always an act of resistance. Even when no one in Moscow hears it. Especially then.

Russia’s Election Message to Kyiv

When the results of the September 2026 Russian elections are released—likely with United Russia securing more than 50% of the vote—the message to Kyiv will be clear: Russia’s political establishment is not ready to accept a peace that fully recognizes Ukrainian sovereignty. The Russian political class is built around war, not peace. And the September 2026 elections will have helped solidify this trajectory.

This is precisely why Ukraine must win—or at least hold out until the cost to Russia becomes unbearable. Not because Ukraine is some kind of crusade. But because a Russia that politically rewards its aggressors will always be a danger to its neighbors, to Europe, and to the world order. A Ukrainian victory is not only just. It is strategically necessary to force Russia to reconsider a political course that these elections illustrate with brutal clarity.

I conclude this editorial with one certainty: Ukraine is right to fight. And we are right to support it. Not because we are naive about what war entails. But because the alternative—letting this regime win, validating its elections, normalizing its crimes—is a moral and strategic capitulation whose consequences will be felt for decades. Golovin, at 29, in the Duma. Ukraine, 32 years into its independence, on the front lines. History will judge who was right.

Signed, Maxime Marquette, columnist